


I am tennis

by waterlinkedgirl



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Actual tennis being played, M/M, With multiple balls but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlinkedgirl/pseuds/waterlinkedgirl
Summary: Yukimura and Tokugawa play a match to hone the abilities that form their Howling, to become stronger, pushing themselves to their limits. However, the door to becoming stronger is...Inspired by chapter 272 of Shinteni! (granted, that was a few months ago, but the drabble kind of ran away with me.)





	I am tennis

"Sorry for interrupting your practice!  
Tokugawa-san... Can I count on you today too?"

Ever since they lost in the exhibition matches against Germany, Yukimura had been stringing along Tokugawa for practice.  
Running, stretching, power exercises. In terms of matches... Mostly singles.  
It was mostly because they were feared among middle schoolers and high schoolers alike, with little pairs foolish enough to challenge them. Atobe had his own agenda, Tezuka was on the other team. Sanada... With all the training he'd devoted himself to, it was even a miracle he'd been able to play with him against Australia.   
And even after he returned from the American team, he hadn't had any opportunities to face the boy. No, it turned out he didn't even play doubles. A victory by default for Yukimura, but a bit of a disappointment otherwise.  
Yukimura sighed. Maybe he should try inviting his former roommates once more.

"Are you thinking about something, Yukimura-kun?"  
"No, nothing in particular. You didn't manage to invite anyone today, either?"  
Tokugawa shook his head, and Yukimura let out a breath of a laugh.  
"Singles it'll be then."  
"Yeah."

He had no qualms playing singles. He knew that to tune their Howling they had to play doubles, but when it came down to it, both of them were first and foremost singles players. It's what he'd always done, and always would do, were it not for Tokugawa.  
He didn't dislike playing with him, no, but naturally he didn't dislike playing against him either.

"Smooth or rough?" Yukimura asked.  
"Smooth."

They needed to play singles to make their Howling stronger, anyway.

A fleeting moment of doubt, before the racket fell. Yukimura let out a breath.  
"You're right. Does it seem like today will be a clear day as well?"  
"Yeah. I don't feel like I could lose."  
Yukimura could hardly suppress a smirk.  
"Neither do I."

A high toss, and the specific motion of a wrist.  
"Bringing out your serve this early?"

A ball doesn't duplicate. Nor does it stray from a logical course. If he focussed, he'd be able to see its path.

During their match against Volk, it had become clear that he should focus more on the specific properties of shots. Topspin, backspin, all those things were easy. But it hadn't been once that he hadn't been able to figure out a more exotic spin in time.  
Right now, it would be different.

He managed to hit it back, jersey still over his shoulders.  
Right at the baseline, where he knew Tokugawa was waiting for it. With the thwack of a racket, he tried to discern its course before it entered his vision.

The sound of five more. 

He took in a breath. Course, velocity, spin, intention, he kept his senses sharp on every single one of them. And without breaking a sweat, he returned all five of them. Rikkai being able to return as many balls was the norm, but Tokugawa's serve was tricky, and he doubted all of them could hit back more than one.

The last ball he could return without even looking at it.

"Your returns have become more more accurate."  
Tokugawa coolly reflected on what he'd seen of Yukimura as he served twice more, after hitting back the six balls in play.  
"Once you realize a ball doesn't flash about, it's simply a fast serve."  
The service to the left, and the service to the right; two balls intercepted and six more.

"But you know that already, don't you?"

The cruel thing about rallies with multiple balls was the time delay. If you spread your returns, your opponent may end up having to return a lob and a drop shot at the same time. Impossible, of course, but as the one hitting them also quite hard to pull off.  
It was no wonder that the highschoolers normally tended not to aim them too far out from each other.

All of Yukimura's shots landed perfectly at the baseline, neatly spread out across its width. As long as he could afford to, he'd keep the pressure on.  
As he'd expected of Tokugawa, he returned all eight balls, three on his right, four to his left, and one volley down the middle.

No player was truly stoic. To have feelings is to be human.   
And as soon as you could read someone's heart, you could read their courses. As soon as you could read their heart, you could pull at it to change those.  
As of now, Tokugawa was confident and collected, only the most minute curve of his eyebrows hinting at the effort he'd have to put in this rally.

Tokugawa intended to push at his limits, deliberately putting a variant of the spin he put on his serve on the volley through the middle.  
It wasn't as fast as his serve, no, but that was exactly the point. If he moved to the front to return it first, he would have a sidesplit barrage passing him by.  
The sound of the middle ball bouncing, as he made his way to the right. Three shots he hit cross-court, in one fluid motion transitioning to running back. 

"You read it."  
"Of course." He smiled.

The hardest shots are those he should land the best. Only a split second he had to watch that flittering shot shake through space, only a split second to adjust his posture. He threw it down at Tokugawa's feet.

The last four balls to his left, his backhand, were hardly more than an afterthought as he crossed them well to the baseline.

Tokugawa didn't allow him to let up for even a second, he knew. And that's exactly what Yukimura didn't, to a T.   
That he didn't usually rally with multiple balls was for good reason.  
The sweat on Tokugawa's forehead, the raise of his shoulders, the way he took in his breaths.

Tokugawa's premonition was a double-edged blade. It was tricky that a large part of his Yips didn't work against it. After all, if you have a clear gut feeling for what would happen in the next play, hubris couldn't get the better of you, nor could you be swayed to think Yukimura's return was incontestable.  
But on the other hand, it did increase the amount of returns clinging in Tokugawa's mind. And hunches, in that, are the most destructive.

One, two and three serves. Tokugawa'd gradually started to aim his shots. 

It was to be expected, at eleven balls. Any highschooler at this point would have started to aim. In the brief respite he had after returning the eleventh once again, he wiped the sweat off his face, trying to calm his breath. No gaps, no gaps as he chased after the next barrage. No matter how difficult it'd become, no matter how many balls he'd have to return. He wouldn't lose again.

Once he felt his jersey slip off his shoulder, he caught it in his left hand and threw it off the court.  
Their rally continued.

On instant amidst the hits, where he'd almost looked over Tokugawa's setup for a smash, he thought how easy it would be if those shots froze in the air.  
He couldn't replicate Fuji's Wind of Light, he knew, by no means was his train of thought as instantaneous as Fuji's. But...  
He aimed the failed setup precisely at the baseline.  
But he was sure it was more accurate.

He thought back to that cold room he had stayed in for all those eight months.  
Time won't stand still for him. It was good that it didn't.  
If you don't move forward, after all...  
He gripped his racket tighter, hitting to Tokugawa's open side.

While he was rallying with multiple balls now, people did not duplicate.  
Because he understood Tokugawa, he knew where he wanted to hit next. He knew what image he had in Tokugawa's eyes.

Fifteen.  
Fifteen balls, and all of Tokugawa.

He knew he had reacted to his four serves, even though in the flow of things he hadn't perceived the sound. His arms strained to hit them back, his legs to catch up, his mind to focus. He had to become stronger. stronger, stronger.  
There was no such thing as an unreturnable ball. Even if there were fifteen in play. 

He had to gain control of the flow again.

Each next shot just a bit more power, just a better angle, step by step pushing Tokugawa back. He tried to push the limits of his senses, broaden his mind to do more than simply return. And he knew, he was not the only one battling at his mental limit.  
The raggedness of Tokugawa's breath spoke volumes of his mind, hesitance hidden in his wrists, the unconscious twitching of a brow.  
When he saw the look in Tokugawa's eyes, though, he realized it was time to switch back to one ball.

Tokugawa as he was now needed only one push to send him hurtling down the path he'd made hundreds fall before. Even with the ferocity in his gaze. But before that...  
'I want you to try attacking much more fiercely.'  
With that memory of the coach flashing in his mind, aiming for that fire, he took to a well-placed smash.

The air froze over in heat.

Tokugawa was already in position— a premonition, he knew, as Tokugawa aimed for the empty side of his court.  
A rain of balls at Yukimura's feet, but the only one he was concerned with was the one that made itself hard to read, moving irregularly through space. The angle was sharp, but to Yukimura, nothing he couldn't put his racket on—  
Feeling the spin change under his strings, he turned his wrist to catch it, just in time before it left his racket. When did Tokugawa learn to hit his shot like that?

Tokugawa, however, was quick to react to his return, and Yukimura briefly had to weigh where he'd hit it. Posture, midriff, footing, all told him but one thing.  
The shaking in Tokugawa's mind had dimmed.  
Yukimura had to stay on top of his attack, lest he should risk Tokugawa taking the upper hand. A rapidfire exchange at the net, between implausible escalations of angles and insidiously sharp straight he could not let his own focus slip, no, he had to at least keep it equal to Tokugawa's.

The Divine Path of the Asura... Not only could he hold off falling to Yips with that, it raised his concentration and accuracy to a frightening degree.

"That's an interesting skill you have, Tokugawa-san. You think I could learn it as well?"  
"That depends."

Yukimura regretted not being able to lob to score overhead. Tokugawa had the height advantage over him, and surely if Yukimura tried he would have a smash on his hands. 

"Are you willing to wager your life?"  
The ball flew past Yukimura. 

Life...  
That's right...

He remembered Tokugawa's match against Byoudouin vividly. He remembered their match against Volk and Frankensteiner, vividly. A man who would let himself get knocked unconscious again and again, only to try to keep on playing. Who would shave away at his own lifespan as an athlete for the sake of victory, for the sake of someone else's future. He could have used Yukimura as a lure to rake in points by making Volk and Frankensteiner aim for him, but instead he chose to protect him from harm.

"No," he whispered. "I can't..."

He didn't remember much of his surgery. It was no wonder, he was unconscious, after all. The only thing he did remember though, was an overwhelming feeling of 'let me live to play tennis again.'

"Tennis is what allowed me to return to the court.  
Putting my life on the scale for the sake of tennis... For the sake of victory..."  
He bit his lip.   
He needed that power to go against the world. He didn't want to lose again. He didn't. But...!

"I can't put my life on the line to live..."  
His voice trembled more than he wished it did.

Yukimura put the ball of his wrist to the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes.

He had to win. If he didn't win, the match would be meaningless in the grand scheme of things. If he didn't win, he might as well not have played.  
That's how he used to think, before he lost against Echizen. He knew the boy had meant to show him he shouldn't have to suffer to play tennis, just to get the gold. He'd considered the boy's words for months and months on end, but somewhere deep inside him he had known he would never be able to reconcile himself with them.

Because he had crawled up from that cold and desolate place, he knew the rush of having decided the last point, the warmth of returning. Because he had seen the despair of losing many many times, he knew the worth of winning. Time and time, again and again.

Enduring pain and anguish was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make to attain it.  
Yet, he lost, not once but twice.

How far did he have to go to win?  
When he let Tokugawa down, against Germany, he had sworn he'd become stronger, training every day.  
Sure, they hadn't lost the battle yet, but they did lose the match, and it was because he himself hadn't been strong enough. When he hit that final shot at the flag, his legs had already started to give in, after all.

He shivered.  
If he wasn't strong enough right now... If he ever wanted to face the world with his own power...

"Yukimura."  
Before he knew it, Tokugawa had walked over to his part of the court.  
Only when he opened his eyes again, called by the sound of Tokugawa's voice, did he realize his racket had slipped out of his hand, even when the nails of his fist were digging white into his skin.

"Yukimura-kun. Are you alright?" There was genuine worry in his eyes— something he didn't need, but from Tokugawa, cherished nonetheless.  
"I'm alright."

Yukimura breathed out, opened his hand again. He looked at the nail marks on his skin, wondering how he let that happen.

A hand on his shoulder, and he almost startled looking up.  
"Do you want to get something to drink?" Tokugawa asked.   
Tokugawa wasn't good at expressing how he felt, which made him have a reputation for being cold. But Yukimura knew better than that. Much better.  
Yukimura nodded. "...That would be nice."

Tokugawa's hand slipped down, from his right shoulder to his arm, to letting go as he knelt down to pick up his racket from the ground.  
He held it out to him by the handle, his head lowered slightly, intently, reassuringly.

One moment his own hand hovered in the air, before he took the racket over in his hand. Not tightly, not loosely, just enough to hold on to it. With his hand on the grip, his left on the strings, Yukimura lifted it to rest his lips against the frame. His racket. The familiar tension under his fingertips, the feel of his grip tape, the coolness of the frame against his lips. He smiled, slowly running his fingers down. He wouldn't let anyone steal the joy of taking it back into his hands away. Not even himself.  
Along the line of sight, the face of his racket, he looked at Tokugawa.

"Thank you."

He had respect for Tokugawa's ways, but the difference between their outlooks was unmistakable. He wouldn't become like him. That was fine.  
He'd find a way to play tennis, without sacrificing it. No matter how hard and thorny that path may be.


End file.
